


Dance In The Dark

by CalamityCain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Blindfolds, Crying, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Rape, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a kidnapped Tom awaits deliverance, he is tormented and commanded to do his captor's bidding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Age difference: Tom is about 18 or 19 in this fic, while Chris is somewhere around his real age.
> 
>  
> 
> _{this fic is made of bad, bad things. i apologize in advance. also the rape tags are real as shit}_

~ 

The click of the silver barrel cut through the pounding music.

 

"Dance for me."

 

Trembling, Tom closed his eyes and imagined himself to be somewhere else as he gyrated his hips, fingers tucked nervously into belt loops, skittering against his pelvic bones.

 

 _“You move like a snake. I mean that in the best way…so sinuous and graceful. And incredibly sexy.”_ Words from his dance teacher echoed in his head. He heard her teasing, lilting voice; her air-light footsteps beside his, and wished to be back in some earlier more innocent place.

 

There was no air here. No lightness. Only the command of a gun, and the menacing outline of a man – known only as Chris – in the dim light, watching his every move.

 

His jeans felt terribly tight all of a sudden. He was conscious of every muscle, every sinew, straining against the denim.

 

 _Your hands are not your own,_  he reminded himself. A lover’s hands. Someone else…anyone. He ran his palms up his torso, brushing his nipples, feeling them harden beneath his fingers. Collarbone. Neck. He cradled his chin, feeling the heat of blood pooling in his face, and fervently wished he had not surrendered his shirt to his captor minutes ago.

 

"Yes. Good. Just like that."

 

Tom heard him rise from the chair. Then, quite suddenly, Chris’ breath was warm on his neck. He felt the cloth wind around his eyes; panicked, lashes fluttering as he stared into blackness.

 

"Calm down, for fuck’s sake." A hard slap to his backside. "Keep moving."

 

Tom forced himself to sway to the music. The hypnotic tune crept through his veins and helped him make some sense of his own movements, despite that fact that his body did not feel like his own. 

 

That is, until an intrusive hand slid beneath his jeans and between his ass.

 

"Please _. Please._  Don’t do this.”

 

"Be  _quiet._ " The barrel dug into his back, making him shiver with its cold — and the shock of the finger prodding into his warm, tight ring of muscle. Tears sprang up in his eyes.

 

Reflexively he withdrew, or tried to. A large, strong arm coiled itself around him python-like and held him in place for the rape.

 

"Relax…I’m trying to loosen you up. You don’t want this to hurt, do you?"

 

Tom bit his lip, shook his head.

 

"That’s a good boy." The grip loosened. "Take off your pants."

 

He tried to. Cold fingers dug into the buttonhole, fumbling and pulling at the fabric in jerky movements.

 

“No, come now, not like that.” Chris’ hands gripped his shoulders, steadying him while also emphasizing his helplessness. “Do it slowly. And keep those nice hips moving, yeah?” There was a smile in the rumbling voice. A terrible smile.

 

The music grew louder in Tom’s ears; or perhaps it was just his heart pounding. He tried to do as Chris told him, imitating some stripper he had seen in a crappy movie recently. He undulated his hips in rhythm with the sliding of his tight jeans down his thighs. Soon his legs were bare, cool, vulnerable. The denim pooled around his ankles. He kicked them off as gracefully as he could.

 

 _Now what?_ he thought, shivering, arms wrapped around a too-slender frame.

 

Several seconds passed. He stared on into the blackness of his blindfold, feeling the torturous seconds tick by. Then, finally, Chris came for him once more. This time the finger was slick with some sort of oil as it made its way up his ass. He jerked involuntarily. The blindfold was wet; he realized he had begun to cry, and uncontrollably. Loathing welled up in his chest.

 

“Shhh. This doesn’t have to be so hard.” Two fingers were in now, loosening, preparing him. He was warm and slick down there now. “Relax. _Hey._ ” Chris shook him gently. “Relax. You can take it.”

 

He was lowered onto his knees, pushed onto his hands. The floor was cold against his palms. “Down – lower. Like that.” His nose was now touching the terrazzo.

 

Then the remaining garment, his briefs, were pulled down his thighs and stripped away. His sobs grew stronger. He couldn’t help it. The strain of the last few hours, his utter nakedness, being robbed of sight, knowing Chris could and would do anything he wanted with Tom’s body – it wore away at the reserves of calm that had prevented him spiraling into an outright panic so far.

 

“Don’t do this. Don’t do this.” He kept saying it as if it would change anything, holding on to the words like a prayer. “Don’t. Please, don’t. You don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.” _Please. Please._

 

 

The barrel of the gun pressed into the inside of his thigh. He gasped. It caressed his flesh, ran right up to where Chris’ fingers had been a moment ago.

 

“You want to be good and quiet, or shall I blow your sweet little hole right up your mouth?”

 

Tom’s breath froze in his lungs.

 

“Well?” The gun jabbed into his upper thigh, and he felt its steel against his balls.

 

“I-I-yes! I mean – ”

 

 _“What?”_ Chris pressed harder.

 

“I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet! I’ll do anything you say!” The last few words were thick with tears.

 

A hand patted his back, stroked it as he attempted to swallow his sobs. “That’s better. Now spread your legs.”

 

He obeyed. Of course he did.

 

There was the terrible sound of a zipper. And then the even more terrible sensation of Chris’ cock, the large head pressed up against his hole.

 

“I want you to fuck yourself on me.” The hand that had been patting him came to rest firmly on the small of his back. “Move your hips the way you were moving.”

 

“I…I don’t…”

 

“Don’t what? I made myself perfectly clear.” The hand gripped him tight, ensuring there was nowhere for him to go.

 

“I want to see you _dance,_ boy.”

 

Don’t do this. The begging was all for naught, a never-ending useless litany in his head. Slowly, slowly, he moved back and forth, thrusting himself bit by bit into Chris’ waiting cock.

 

“Push yourself some more. Harder.” Once more that awful click, and the barrel was pressed into his skull. _“Now.”_

 

He cried, and cried, and pushed himself back as the first few inches really breached him, widening his hole. It hurt; oh God it hurt. He knew he was sufficiently lubricated, but his whole body was just too tense. It wasn’t going to work.

 

“If you don’t push, my love, _I_ will.”

 

“I can’t. I d-don’t know how.” Tears flowed freely down his face. Even now he was hoping for a smidgen of sympathy from the large, ruthless man.

 

Just as he was bracing himself for a full-on assault, a shrill buzzing filled the air. Chris answered his phone. “Yeah?”

 

There was a scowl in his voice. “Uh-huh. That _cocksucker…_ ” A long pause. “I’m not supposed to move till sundown. It’s _my_ ass on the line here, right? …Yeah yeah. OK. Make sure you’re there. Or I’m gonna shoot him and leave.”

 

The call ended. Tom realised he was sprawled clumsily on the floor, his knees having given out. His ass was hurting, but not badly.

 

“Good news for you, kitten,” said Chris. “We don’t have much time left for fun. So your ass is safe…for now.” Chris moved to kneel in front of him, and he smelt the strong musk of the man’s sex in his face. “But you’ll need to give me some quick relief.”

 

The blindfold was removed as a finger prodded his lower lip. “Open up.”

 

Tom murmured some protest – and was cut off with a backhand. “Did that sound like a question, boy? _Open. Up.”_

 

With a stifled sob (would he ever stop crying? Tom hated himself for it) he allowed the large cock to slide between his lips. Chris was relentless, fucking him all the way down the throat, making him gag and his eyes tear. The hard thrusts, making wet obscene sounds as his lips slid up and down the man’s length, stretched his jaw till it ached. Even when he struggled for breath, Chris would not release him.

 

“Keep it in. Keep my cock in your mouth. You look so pretty like that, kitten.”

 

One hand stroked his cheek tenderly, while another kept his head firmly in place. His chin was tilted up. “Look into my eyes. I want you to see your face as I come into it.”

 

Shortly after there was a groan of release, and Chris’ hips gave a quick jerk. A strong gush of come spurted down his throat. He sighed and smiled.

 

“Good boy. My good little slut...your mouth was _made_ to take cock. You understand?”

 

Tom’s cheeks were flushed, his entire body trembling. Only after he nodded was his mouth released.

 

“Alright. Time to pack you up and go – delivery has been pushed forward. Put your clothes back on, hurry.”

 

Once he was fully clothed, the blindfold went back on. Then his hands were tied behind his back. To his surprise, he felt the plastic tip of a water bottle pressed to his lip. “Have a drink; it’ll be awhile before you get another one.”

 

He gulped down a few mouthfuls, and soon found out why the small mercy was granted when a strip of duct tape sealed his lips. _“Mmmmf.”_

 

“There; you’re all good and ready to go.” Tom was hoisted over the man’s shoulder and carried out the door. The warmth of the late afternoon sun enveloped him briefly before he was bundled into Chris’ van.

 

“Sit tight, princess. We have quite a way to go.”

 

And Tom was left bound and helpless, in the dark as to where he was headed next.

 

 


End file.
